I walked through the valley of the shadow of death….no, that’s not where that was supposed to go. I walked through the woods. I took the path least resisted. Is there one? Which way was it? Can I even be here? What are the rules? Is the air safe? Should I be wearing a mask to protect me or the animals? I just want to walk through the woods. Not the shadow of the valley of death which is a song? Or a psalm? I don’t know my psalms. Barely my songs. Why am I not in the woods? I’m in a church. Trying to find the book of psalms in my head. It won’t be there. That’s not a book I know. Leave the church, you aren’t supposed to be here either. Get back inside. Inside?
I was thinking of trying to trick myself through a story of a peaceful place. I can’t find a peaceful place. So many are closed. To control my breath. It’s getting harder to breath. My chest is sore from lifting weights in my mind. Grief is heavier than all the other weights. It’s getting too heavy. It’s weighing me down at night. I thought of getting a weighted blanket once but now I think I would die from me too weighted. Too heavy. I don’t need a weight to sleep anymore.
I dreamt of panicking going over a bridge with water flowing over it. I will be carried away? The driver was getting too close to the edge at one point where we had to turn a around. Who is driving? Why am I not driving? I would be certain to stay away from dangerous flooded roads that will carry me far far away. Pull me under. Drown me. This water felt so real. I woke soaked. It took me more than 4 minutes to untangle and realize I was not being pulled from a flooded river. It was sweat.
I can’t trick myself into calm. Deep breathing hurts. It physically hurts. I love when people say, take a few deep breaths. They mean well. I want to say, take them for me. They look like they need to take them for me. I will have to suffer through this. There is little I can do. The sheer fact I know that weighs me down even further. I don’t know what will happen when it becomes too much which is creating a panic all on its own.
Could I draw? Not today. I would break pencils. My grip too tight, my arms too heavy. Could I paint? Not if anything needs opened. Can I bake? The memory is too sharp and painful of years my dad baked. I never want to see flour and butter again. For today. Can I work? Barely. They want me afraid to be anywhere right now. They couldn’t have picked a more opportune time. I’m sacred to death already.
I want to protest. To join a group and rally against these times. Safely with a mask from my car. What would I protest? Be fighting for or against? I don’t even think we know anymore? I want to jump on a band wagon. Where did that saying even come from? Form ally’s and unions to show support. For what? I want to feel part of something bigger than me so I can feel teeny tiny once again. I’m too big. Too swollen with grief and the world has consumed me in one clean bite. I’ll drown.
Why can’t I write about something made up and pretend with no questions asked? My imagination is not busy enough. It’s getting bored with reality. It’s getting lazy in these times. They are trying to steal my one solid coping skill. To escape in my head. To a place no one knows. So I can breath.
Breath in. I hear the interstate. It is right here in my kitchen. Are they planes? Did they switch to planes? Why are they so loud today? My sink settles. It makes noises it seems it shouldn’t. Will it fall through the cabinet one day? It seems secure yet makes a noise like it’s being properly placed still. My turtle is banging his head against the side of his tank. I feel ya turtle. He wishes to explore beyond but the water gets too solid and hard in every corner and he can’t get through.
Once I thought I would take him out. Like put him in a bucket of water and put him in my car, find a small place of water tucked up from a little creek and let him play. I want to take my turtle out for a little day trip. To see a world bigger than him. I wouldn’t be able to buckle him up in the car. He would go flying through the wind shield. Maybe. I don’t know how hard that shell really is. He would love it. I’ve seen it. He is a brave little turtle. He likes to walk around in the house, explore the carpet changing to hard floors. He ventured out onto the patio once, he gets stuck under the couch, he just kind of goes. But he has to get wet. That’s the kind of turtle he is. He gets played with by my daughter. She will dip him in water occasionally in the sink. Then go and tuck him in a little bed in her dollhouse or a crib. I can only imagine what he is thinking. Except today. I can barely imagine being a turtle. A brave little turtle.
Breath back in. Then out. I didn’t hold it. Was I supposed to count? Why is the turtle trying so hard to get out? Does he need something? Is he afraid? Does he need to explore? Maybe he can’t see well either? A turtle with glasses? Cute. Too cute.
I check my senses too often. I make sure I can smell and taste. I’m eating constantly to assure myself I can taste things. I can’t see well. I see kind of ok but can tell a difference. I can’t see an eye doctor. Not literally but in reality. Unless I get stabbed in the eye or one is falling out I can’t go to see to drive or read a book. I thought maybe I could get an eye injury just to correct my vision. I would be able to see better but need a new eyeball from stabbing my eye to be able to see better. Weird world.
This is getting worse. This virus mess. It is not going to get better. I fear. They will force us to wear masks and not get to ever leave home. They will try to give us a false sense of safety by covering and disguising our fears.
Don’t they know? It’s best to wear them right out on your sleeve. Be proud of them. To show your fear. Do it anyway. Be proud of your girlish screams not of delight but blood curdling fear. It’s ok to be afraid. It’s ok to have a few days where it hurts to breath. Where your too heavy is too heavy and full. The world has consumed you and you feel you could drown. That’s where it comes from.
Brave. It’s a far reach right now. It’s not like being brave to go to the dentist. You can’t. Unless you have teeth emergencies. It’s not like being brave and going to the store. Too many arrows on the floor to follow. It’s not like being brave and riding that bike. This is bigger. Being brave and living. Being brave and being brave again. Somedays hurt to be from being so afraid. Feel the pain, they say, when you run. Feel it burn. Let it push you forward. Why can some do this and some fall? Why am I a fall and get back and keep running? Is that braver than the ones who don’t fall? Or can I just not see as well? I pick rocks out of my knees and keep going, blood dripping down my knees. Breathing easy and through. My face turns red. I can feel my blood moving fast. My eyes are watering. My legs are numb, yet burn. Just do it. Kind of. But be brave and be ok that today is not being less brave. It’s more afraid and still living. Breathing even if it’s hard. But not drowning. That was a dream. This is life, little turtle.
Aspenleaf 